


Medias Finis

by polarising



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Post-Neutral Route (Undertale), Post-Neutral Route - King Mettaton Ending, Post-Neutral Route - Near Genocide Ending, the mettasans is kind of implied but kind of not??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polarising/pseuds/polarising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing what happens in each of the timelines and still having to feign ignorance when he sees it happen all over again gets tiring real quick.</p><p>[edit: 'completed' one ending and left it there, sorry about that]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [edit: i was gonna do all the endings but only finished the mtt one, hence why it ends there. sorry that you're never gonna see where the other bolded texts headed]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the timeline is going to be reset anyway, why bother with trying to keep things permanent? Why bother with making friends? Why bother with making enemies? Why bother with trying to remember things to piece together later, in vain attempts to recreate what's missing from a new timeline?
> 
> After all, not bothering is Sans' greatest talent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'm gonna write something for the neutral endings  
> also me: i'm gonna proceed to ignore the canon meeting at the pacifist end for the sake of having mettaton here too  
> also me x2: i'm gonna make them all friends already because w h y n o t
> 
> the title means 'intermediate/middle/in between/neutral end', and i kept it because its been my working title for the whole time i was writing the upcoming chapters so now i'm attached
> 
> (yes i know sans doesn't always talk in lowercase but it looks more consistent if i do so whatever forever)

 

He knows it won't last. The happiness surrounding them, the smiles on their faces, the lights in their eyes. None of it would remain once the timeline was reset.

And it happened every time. Every single time, it had been reset. It was almost like they were destined not to have their happy ending. Undyne and Alphys wouldn't get together. Papyrus wouldn't join the Royal Guard. Mettaton wouldn't rekindle his family ties with Napstablook and they wouldn't perform live with each other. Toriel and Asgore wouldn't at least stay on speaking terms.

But he has now, right? He has the time between the now and the unseen, between where it always reaches and where it sometimes ends. He has the happy beam on Toriel's face while he sends her stupid jokes over text, and he has the lovable look of irritation from Papyrus while puns bounce back and forth between the rest of the group. He has the giggle that Mettaton gives when something amuses him - not his usual showy cackle, but a soft little chuckle instead - and he has the approving look of Asgore while he watches over everyone, pleased at the outcome of everything. He has the fleeting, loving glances between Alphys and Undyne, the first little nudge of their pinky fingers, and then the whole hand-holding as the lizard's bright yellow skin turns a rosy shade of red.

But maybe it was a mistake getting this attached to everyone when he knows exactly how it all plays out. Frisk saves them, Asriel fights them, all is well...and then there's a reset. He can't change it, can't do anything to alter how it turns out, but he can still hope that somewhere along the line, curiosity will eventually kill the cat, and the satisfaction can't bring it back.

 

\---

 

He has Mettaton.

Admittedly, he doesn't get on with him as well as the rest of the group would probably like, but that's probably just their clashing personalities. Neither one of them would ever accept when they were wrong (except with Papyrus - it seems like having him as either a brother or a crush becomes a weakness), and both had the same levels of back-and-forth snarkiness that resulted in some rather bitter remarks ("it's just a prank, bro." "I can enjoy being pranked as long as there's a laugh out of it, but your entire existence is one big practical joke, Sans, which is why it's no longer funny.").

He says he doesn't get on well, but sometimes, they do. They _really_ do, to the point where it's obvious to everyone else that there's unresolved tension of a different kind between them.

 He notices that the robot is at the edge of the group, which isn't at all like him. He's normally in the center, with everyone's undivided attention and showing off some body part or another, but right now he's perched on the low wall surrounding them, seemingly focused and watching everyone with a small smile. 

"heya," he says, and Mettaton jumps out of his trance.

"Don't do that," he warns, only casting him a brief glance before looking back over the rest of the group.

 "sorry, you too busy being cool and distant?"

"Excuse you, I'm _very_ emotionally advanced," Mettaton replies, and then winces at his own comment. "Within reason."

Sans sits on the wall next to him, knowing how touchy a subject his emotional capabilities are. He's surprised he even mentioned it in the first place. "hey, don't sweat it. you're just as real to us as any other monster. we don't care if you're a lil' ghostie in there."

"How do you know about that?" he snaps, turning to face him so quickly that his fringe doesn't quite catch up and exposes the bundles of wires and blank eye socket where another quarter of his face should be. Sans just shrugs mysteriously, like he does whenever someone asks him how he knows things that he shouldn't. Mettaton usually doesn't tell the rest of the group until later. Alphys already knows, obviously, and he's fairly sure Frisk cottoned on during his little slip-up in his phone call to Napstablook on the show, but Sans isn't supposed to know yet.

"i have my ways."

"Care to share?"

"nah."

Mettaton lets out a little irritated 'hmph' and looks back to the group. It's pointless arguing with Sans about it - he always knows everything about everyone, somehow (read: timeline hopping), but he isn't the kind of guy to tell everyone anyone else's secrets. It wouldn't affect much, but he knows that Mettaton still doesn't want the knowledge that his soul is that of a blook and that his 'body' is merely a vessel for it getting around.

When no more is said, Sans speaks up. "...did you actually try to kill frisk for the sake of your ratings?"

"That's entertainment, darling."

"you-"

"Entertainment."

"don't-"

"Shh. Entertainment. You can't build yourself up without knocking a few people down."

"they're, like, ten."

"En-"

"stop using 'entertainment' as an excuse or i swear, i'll- ...i'll probably do nothing because i'm lazy as shit, but you know what i mean. the threat's still there."

Mettaton looks back at Sans, except now it's not with the same accusatory look as before. It's slightly softer, aside from the eye roll thrown in at the end. "You make me _want_ to keep saying it just to get a reaction out of you. You're the worst at being threatening, darling."

"yeah, sorry that i don't make habits of threatening people, i guess?"

"You're about as intimidating as a pillow. A very soft, lovely, fluffy pillow."

"was that a compliment?"

"Absolutely not."

Sans nudges him, letting his arm drop right next to Mettaton's thigh. "you can't actually say _anything_ without flirting, so, um, yes, it was."

"In that case, sorry that I'm so hopelessly attractive and so irresistible that not even skeletons can keep their bony little fingers off me," he says with his trademark smirk that Sans has come to quite appreciate, and pointedly glances at his hand.

"excuse you. _i_ can."

"We'll see," he says, lightly dancing his fingers over Sans' hand. It doesn't make the skeleton uncomfortable in the slightest. He's just used to their little almost-but-not-quite flirtatious back-and-forths.

"buddy, everyone in the underground knows me. everyone knows you, too, but in a different way and probably for reasons not completely unrelated to your stage presence and your so-called 'irresistibly attractive hot-bot body'. you really think you'd put either of our reputations at stake here?"

**"Darling, I'd do _anything_ for the spotlight." ** Another glance, and a glimmer of a wink. "Or any _one_."

 

\---

 

He has Undyne.

Papyrus knows her better than he does, but he's very appreciative of her efforts to train his brother up, even if she _did_ decide of her own accord that he was 'too nice' for the Royal Guard and that his training would just extend to cooking so that he could focus his efforts elsewhere.

 He manages to get her away from Alphys for a second when the lizard starts to show Asgore her collection of anime saved on her phone.

"how's it goin'?" he says, and Undyne noticeably flinches.

"You're everywhere," she comments, turning to face him.

"everyone's so jumpy today. having fun admiring your nerd girlfriend?"

 "Shut up, dork. I think we're all just glad it's over, so anything unexpected just...catches us out."

Sans just nods, and Undyne looks back at Alphys. There's a pause similar to the one between him and Mettaton earlier, as if there's nothing more to say now. He knows why. None of them are quite sure what will happen once they can reach the surface but they're just glad that there doesn't have to be any more fighting.

"...I'm still not completely convinced that anime isn't real. I know what the kid said, but...Alphys' history books...it's all right there! It _has_ to be true!"

"seriously, undyne, oh my god," Sans chuckles. "i don't even know myself, but i feel like humans don't have fifty foot swords and seven-legged space princesses. frisk is pretty...ordinary."

Undyne's expression changes, like she might cry or like she'd heard something she didn't want to hear. She's so determined to keep her definition of human history as what Alphys' anime depicted that Sans almost doesn't want to laugh in fear of insulting her. And _that_ fear leads onto a slightly irrational fear of her beating him up, which she wouldn't do (especially not in front of Alphys) and he isn't scared of her, but it's hard _not_ to be intimidated by a six-foot-something muscular piranha who nearly killed a child without remorse.

 "Wh-whatever. At least we're all happy now, right?" she says suddenly, looking at Sans expectantly. He knows she wants to hear 'yeah, we'll all be peachy', but he also doesn't want to lie to her. She doesn't deserve that.

Once the timeline is reset, they won't know. They'll relive their lives without even knowing it. Sans, on the other hand, will have to watch it play out again and again and again, watching the same sequences of events occur while he idly wonders if he could do much to change them. What if he said or didn't say _this?_ What if he did or didn't do _that?_ Would his getting out of bed earlier change what happens on one particular day? Would something not happening on that day as a result of his unusual alertness mean that something else is altered further down the line?

It took him a minute - a minute of Undyne blinking and waiting for a response, a minute of his butterfly effect thought process clouding his head like the mist in Snowdin's winter - but he eventually forces out, "yeah. we'll be fine. juuuust _un-fine"._

His forced pun on her name is bittersweet, for the reasons as it implies.

She nods, although she still doesn't look convinced. It's his own fault. A pause that long is bound to cause some suspicion. "Good. I'm not gonna let _anything_ come between any of us again. We're gonna go out and live up there, on the surface, and _dammit,_ we're gonna be happy."

Her fist clenches by her side, as if remembering something. Whether it's Alphys-related or to do with her battle with Frisk, he doesn't know, but he lets her continue anyway.

"I'll do whatever it takes to stop a barrier coming between us all, both metaphorically and physically. If it does, somehow, it's leaving just as fast as it got there." There's another long pause, and finally her face contorts into her usual toothy grin, baring her sharp fangs at him, and he's reassured that he gave her the answer she needed regardless of what he said. **"I _will_ break it down."**

   

\---

 

He has Alphys.

They'd worked together in the past, building and engineering different scientific equipment under Asgore's command. Most of it was just replacements for parts of the Core that were way past their scheduled renovation date, but sometimes they'd have to work on projects that would take up a good six months or so. Back in those times, he was surprised he even had time for Papyrus, or that Alphys had time to hang out with Undyne; it was all good, though, because Undyne then decided to train his brother up while their respective hang-out buddies were busy doing unknown science things, and it ended up a good use of everyone's time.

 Undyne and Papyrus are talking to Asgore about said training, and Sans can overhear how much Undyne is stretching the truth to make Papyrus seem a lot more intimidating than he actually is, for the sake of his ego and cooking lessons. He spots Alphys approaching him from the corner of his eye socket, and he doesn't quite have the heart to teleport elsewhere to continue the trend of accidentally spooking people.

"heya, alphys. haven't seen you around for a while. been busy?" he says, and he's happy to see a smile on her face, albeit a nervous one.

"Y-yeah," she says, and looks over to Mettaton with a little hand wave. "I still haven't p-properly finished his body, b-but...you- you can't tell, right?"

He can't tell just from looking, but he knows about the missing face panel. He just shrugs. "nah. guy looks as new as ever."

"Oh, thank g-god. I thought it might have been- y'know, obvious or s-something, but he chose to cover it up with a fringe. I'll finish it somed-day." There's a small sigh coming from Sans' side, and he notices her shuffling her feet. "I- I'm sorry I never caught up with you again once we finished that last bit on the Core. I was just so busy trying to finish M-Mettaton's EX body and his other body and I didn't want to disappoint him a-and-"

"alphys, bud, woah. slow down. i'm not mad at you for that. not at all. it's completely fine, and i've actually been pretty busy myself anyway..." His grin widens ever so slightly. "...although i'm quite offended that you were happy enough to live your life  _sans_ myself."

"O-okay, look, that was good, b-but now I'm not sure if you're legitimately offended or anything. I-I'm sorry anyway."

"nope. all's good. just wanted to make a pun."

"Good. H-hey, when you get the chance, c-could you tell your brother that I'm- um...tell him thanks? For me? Because he helped me out when Frisk and I were on our little d-date and- just tell him thanks. Please."

"no problem, scales. anythin' else?"

"Um. Yeah. It's really obvious that you and a certain- um, robotic creation of m-mine have s-something going on."

Her comment actually makes Sans recoil in shock, his pupils fading into black sockets as he looks at her incredulously, and he hopes that his eyes don't freak her out. That is, if his sudden reaction didn't already. "what? no. we don't really like each other all that much. seriously."

"Y-you sorta, like, hate-like each other. You bounce off each other."

"alphys, i am one hundred percent not dating your overly-sexualised robot. he's all everyone else's."

"'K-kay. I just wanted to be s-sure. Sorry. Th-that he's like that, by the way."

Sans' pupils returned. "like what, weirdly flirtatious?"

"Yeah. He, uh... _does_ have a soul. He used to be a b-blook, and he was always kinda...showy, even then. Once I'd built his little b-boxy form to show to Asgore, he wanted to change the fact that there was never anything on T-TV. I guess he's just overc-confident."

"well, everyone certainly appreciates it, i guess. and-"

"Oh, a-and- and it p-probably doesn't help that I ramped his processing sensors up for when he's performing so he's more responsive to everything," she says quickly, sounding weirdly apologetic for something that nobody really complained about.

"it's fine...?"

"Yeah- he- he gets really worked up about it, though, and I sh-shouldn't have done it, because now he gets r-really disorientated and almost k-kinda - I don't know, scared? Maybe? - when his neurotransmitter wire levels lower, because he feels like he c-can't feel things properly and I shouldn't have d-done it."

"alphys, seriously-"

She blinks at him, and then takes her glasses off to wipe the lens on her (dirty) lab coat. "Sorry. I just f-figured you might need some kind of...justific-cation? S-sorry. So yeah. That took a lot of work, soooo...that's why I never caught up with y-you," she mutters, replacing her glasses and squinting to test if her cleaning did the job. **"It's my fault."**

 

**\---**

 

 He has Toriel.

In all honesty, he didn't quite place the soft voice coming from the other side of the ruins door to her. Sure, they'd shared a fair amount of knock-knock jokes through the years, but he'd never actually been able to see her. He wondered why she never opened the door, and if there was a specific reason, but he didn't want to pry. He's mostly just happy to actually see her face.

"you know, i never actually knew that you used to be the queen. talk about withholdin' info."

Toriel chuckles. "I'm sorry, Sans. It just never came up in conversation, I suppose. Most of our talks were...rather ridiculous puns and jokes, if you remember."

"of course i remember. you think i'd forget _that_ fast? you must be _kid-ding_." Toriel laughs louder, and he revels in her smile and genuine enjoyment of his joke. Nobody else seemed to react to them as positively as she did.

"Well, not exactly. I actually thought it was _bleat-antly_ obvious that you remembered."

Now it's Sans' turn to giggle in spite of his cool facade, and Toriel's smile widens, clearly pleased about her own little pun. 

"alright, alright, you win. but yeah. i do remember. and i remember the little deal we had, too."

"What deal?" Toriel asks, her expression changing to a confused little frown as she tilts her head.

"about looking after the next human that came down. frisk." He pauses. "...i gotta ask, why did you make me promise to keep them alive?"

There's another pause between them while Toriel thinks. Sans watches her intently, taking in as many details of the person that he didn't know he knew as possible, from the occasional matted tuft of snow-white fur to the tiny little teeth sticking out around either side of her lower jaw to the _adorably lovely floppy ears_ to the points of ivory atop her head. "I promised that because I knew you had it in you to keep them safe. I'd rather the underground isn't completely against humans, because we shouldn't generalise. Frisk has a good heart, and if we'd have killed them straight away, none of this-" She gestured around her to their friends, to the broken surface barrier, to the happiness in everyone's eyes, "-would have happened."

"hm. i guess," Sans shrugs. "why did they wanna leave the ruins?"

"I don't know, dear. Verbal communication doesn't seem to be their forte." Neither does Toriel's, by this point, because she just stops talking again and looks away wistfully. Sans has no idea what happened to Frisk while they were under Toriel's care, but he assumes it isn't something that she'd care to spend longer than a few moments lingering on. For this reason, Sans fills in the blanks.

"soooo...you're coming up to the surface with us, right?"

The goat's attention flickers back to Sans, and a small smile appears on her face. Not a condescending or sympathetic one, but just one that let the latter know that she was content. "Oh? Of course. I have no reason not to. Besides, I think I owe it to Frisk to make sure they're safe up there, even if...even if they do not need me as much as they did in the ruins."

Sans knows that at least part of that is a downright lie. Frisk did anything to get back to the barrier: convinced Toriel herself to let them leave the ruins, reluctantly fought Papyrus, escaped Undyne's slippery (and rather murderous) grasp, peaked Mettaton's ratings to leave the show, brought Asgore to his knees, and finally, saved Asriel.

Somehow, in between befriending, flirting with, and dating a goat, a skeleton, a fish, a lizard, and a robot, Sans didn't really think Frisk had _time_ to rely on somebody else.

 "yeah. they might have...i dunno, a family to go back to," Sans nods, the words lingering in the back of his non-existent throat. It's true, but he doesn't think anyone else will want to hear that. "it's all kinda up-in-the-air right now. we'll figure it out later."

"My house will be incredibly lonely," Toriel says with a sad little laugh. "I'll have to spruce the place up a bit. I'll make it more welcoming and homely." 

"nah, tori. i'm sure your little house is lovely as is, alright? i'll help you move stuff from there to the surface, if you want."

"You're a dear. I'd say that you're very welcome to visit any time, Sans, but...hm," She looks sadder, and gives him a little motherly frown. **"The door to the ruins is always closed."**

 

**\---**

 

And finally, he has Papyrus.

He has the excitement of his clapping along to Mettaton's theme tune when reruns of his breakfast show start to air at around six in the morning, and he has the enthusiastic chatter about his newest movie when they plod back from New Home's cinema screen at midnight. He has the overly-confident march and the self-proclaimed greatness. Not that he'd ever deny his brother's greatness. He just found it incredibly endearing to hear him introduce himself so boldly to everyone.

 Papyrus seems busy - making friends, chatting excitedly about nothing in particular, as usual. He still sticks a little close to Sans, though. He's not anxious per se, but having so many new friends and opportunities - his idol crush being one of said friends - must overwhelm him a little.

"CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, SANS? METTATON IS HERE! THE SEXIEST RECTANGLE IN ALL OF THE UNDERGROUND IS ABOUT FOURTEEN STEPS AWAY FROM ME!"

Hearing anything to do with the phrase 'sexy rectangle' will never not faze Sans, especially when the words are leaving his somewhat innocent brother's jaw. In fact, Papyrus shouldn't even be surprised that the robot is here, since they were all friends anyway, but...whatever. Papyrus' enthusiasm about anything from grocery shopping to making friends was incredibly refreshing and Sans never minded one bit.

"yeah," Sans nods, pointedly ignoring the fact that he and the robot aren't the best of friends. "have you spoken to him yet?"

"NO. HE'S TOO BUSY BEING POPULAR AND ATTRACTIVE. TWO THINGS THAT WE HAVE IN COMMON; HOWEVER, I'M STILL JUST SPEAKING TO YOU, BY SOME COINCIDENCE."

Sans feigns mock-offense, holding his palm over his heart dramatically. "oh. oh, bro, you crossed the _line._ you _wounded_ me with your words."

The taller skeleton snickers, his usual little 'nyeh heh heh' sounding familiar and like music to Sans' non-existent ears. He loves his brother. His brother is indeed a cool skeleton. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH TALKING TO YOU, OF COURSE. YOU'RE MY BROTHER, SO I'LL ALWAYS LIKE SPEAKING TO YOU," he claims. Then, his eyes narrow slightly. "...EXCEPT WHEN YOU KEEP MAKING TERRIBLE JOKES."

"c'mon, paps, you love my jokes really."

Papyrus folds his arms and looks away. "THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER ADMIT TO SOMETHING LIKE THAT. NOPE!"

Now it's Sans' turn to laugh, and soon enough both of them are chuckling quietly to themselves. Things normally happened in a similar fashion at home - one would say something stupid, the other would laugh, then the one who spoke originally would join in. Speaking of home...where was home now? They still had their residence in Snowdin, but if everyone else was staying on the surface, it just seemed better to at least be with them. The friends that they'd come to love.

 "hey, papyrus. can i ask ya somethin'?"

Papyrus nods eagerly in response, dropping his non-threatening folded arms.

"where do you wanna go from here?"

It sounds more like something a parent might say to a dropout college student, or one side of an ending relationship, but the question was as literal as he could make it. Papyrus hesitates for longer than a moment, eyes darting around while he considers his options.

"WELL, I THOUGHT THAT MAYBE WE COULD STAY WITH FRISK!" he says cheerfully. Oh, no. "I DID SOME MASTERFUL PROBLEM-SOLVING AND DEDUCED THAT FRISK MOST LIKELY DOES HAVE A HOME UP THERE! MOST LIKELY MEANING THAT THERE'S A NINETY PERCENT CHANCE. I HADN'T REALLY COUNTED ON THE TEN PERCENT EXISTING, BUT OH, WELL."

He's not technically wrong; Frisk should have someplace to go from the surface. But then again, he'd heard stories secondhand and witnessed old timelines firsthand where the human's reason for being in the underground in the first place was the lack of a home. A safe one, a loving one, a happy one. Any kind of home was lost to them.

He guessed that's where the term 'fell down' came from. Most monsters knew the meaning of the word 'dead', so it was seen as a softer alternative, like what you'd tell a young child instead of putting it so abruptly. It must have originated from the humans falling down into their world, whether by choice or by other means.

 But surely Frisk has a home? They were never particularly miserable or reluctant to leave their journey, and in fact, seemed to completely reverse everyone's expectations by befriending everyone instead. They were never _unhappy_. It didn't seem like their reason for falling down was suicide. Things could change - having never gotten this far in a timeline before, Sans just hopes it'll turn out for the better.

"uh, paps, bro..." Sans doesn't want to disappoint him, but he doesn't know how things will turn out on the surface. They hadn't spent too much time together down here, but he knows that Papyrus still cares deeply for Frisk and wants them to stay happy, no matter where they are. Unfortunately for Sans, he knows that while his brother can't guarantee their safety, talking about them constantly would have to be the equivalent. "...frisk might have someplace to go on the surface. y'never know. they might stay with us but they also might...leave...? not for too long, i hope, but they'll just be in another place, and we can't all be there."

Looking after Frisk, he turns back to his brother and shakes his skull. Not sadly, but with the same enthusiasm as he always sports. They have to follow soon, before other monsters start flocking to the open barrier. They have to follow their friends.

**"WELL, I HOPE THEY'LL COME BACK SOON!"**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been in my drafts for a whole month eugh


	2. what you wouldn't give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very thin line exists between some things that Sans would like to remember through all the future timelines, and other things that he would like to forget as soon as he leaves the room.
> 
> Mettaton, in his hot pink stiletto boots, walks that line with grace, style, and a perfected strut to show off his literal killer thighs.

 

 

It wasn't even by process of elimination. Sans isn't even sure if someone only made famous through TV is even eligible to rule, but apparently so, because the posters advertising his new show lining every wall, the marble statues of him (and sometimes just a leg) built in every possible spare patch of land, the occasional tree that he'd pass cut in the shape of a heart can't exactly deny that it happened. Every other step is a reminder of how the underground has _positively gone to shit_ once-

...Well. Toriel is dead. Undyne is dead. All possible options for the throne were dead, and so naturally, it fell on his shoulders. Or didn't. It sort of happened overnight.

He didn't really expect a letter at their door that morning, in pink glittery gel pen and it being so stupidly loopy that it almost looked like cursive, telling him to visit the king's throne room at the end of the Core as soon as possible. He decided not to show said letter to Papyrus - not that he didn't want him to know, but he had a feeling that he would want to tag along, and Mettaton probably wouldn't appreciate that considering he only addressed the letter to Sans. He likes Papyrus as much as everyone else - even more so, perhaps, since Sans knew that he had a crush on him - but he doesn't like the ominously sardonic tone of the letter. It wasn't even _asking_ for his presence, it was a flat-out statement telling him that he _needed_ to come to the throne room.

So naturally, the nerves take over as he shuffles through the corridors surrounding New Home, gradually getting slower and slower as he approached their meeting point. His hand doesn't even reach out to knock at first; instead, he just stands and hopes Mettaton would realise that he was out there...somehow. He could, of course, teleport inside and scare all the confidence out of him, just to give himself a bit of an upper hand. He isn't scared of him. He isn't.

Maybe a little. But he wasn't before, and his new status of king is probably what's causing it. It's still Mettaton, though. The same Mettaton that flirts with anything that moves.

(Actually, he takes that back. He tried to seduce a microwave once. The 'you're so hot' line didn't go down too well but Sans found the pun amusing regardless.)

 He knocks on the tall golden door, too hesitantly for his own liking, and it is almost immediately met with a loud 'come iiiiiin' from behind it. He finds the strength to push it open, and is almost blinded by the sheer amount of glitter coating the walls as soon as he steps inside. The familiar tall, long-legged figure is draped sideways over the throne, showing absolutely no respect for its heritage while he holds his phone over his head to type. He glances over at Sans when he hears the door slam shut.

"Ah. You're here. Perfect," he says slowly, not sounding at all like his usual flamboyant self. "Take a seat, darling."

Sans looks around. The only viable seat, aside from the floor, is the throne, which is obviously already occupied. "uh...where? the only kinda chair is where you're already sitting."

Mettaton smirks. "Oh. How _convenient_."

 "i'd rather sit on the floor than your lap, thanks," he says quickly, leaning down to sit with his legs crossed. Had he been presented with this opportunity before Mettaton became an egomaniacal asshole, Sans probably would have taken it. He knows this. Mettaton knows this.

"Suit yourself."

"just tell me why you called me here so i can promptly leave and return to your shoddy excuse of a kingdom."

 Electing to ignore the comment, Mettaton simply gave him a look and continued. "Well. I'm sure you know that someone as famous and gorgeous as myself can't do everything alone. My paperwork, for example, and getting me new shows and work. That's the _least_ glamorous part of showbiz, darling. I hate it with a _passion."_

Sans rolls his pupils. "if you're askin' me to be your agent, i'm politely declining. if you ask again after that, i'm _impolitely_ declining."

The little chuckle that leaves Mettaton's mouth is one that Sans used to be accustomed to. He could tolerate the high-pitched voice in small doses, but god forbid he ever had to spend more than half an hour around him. They were at each other's throats in about twenty minutes - any longer and someone would be having a bad time.

This time, though, the laugh had a darker edge to it. "I'm afraid you don't really have a say in the matter, my dear. Are we forgetting who's wearing the crown here?"

If Sans was slightly more gutsy, and less intimidated, he'd reply with something like _'no, because you look hot in it'._ But now was not the time for petty hate-flirting.

"nope. but i'm pretty sure that, legally, i get a say in matter that involve myself directly."

"You're sure, are you?"

"pretty sure, yup."

"Well, there's a new law opposing that."

"as of when?" Sans throws him narrowed eyes with a rather confused look. What he doesn't notice - either because he's too busy staring death in the face, or because it happens at, like, twice the speed of light - is Mettaton's weird noodly arms extending through the air around him and winding around his torso like untamed vines. He feels himself being lifted and he reacts just as quickly.

"put me the _fuck_ down," he hisses, and Mettaton ignores him.

"Look me in the eyes," he says, clutching a fistful of Sans' shirt and tugging him closer to his face, "and tell me that you hate me."

Sans' pupils disappear, forcing him to look at the robot with empty sockets. Eye contact seems a little more doable that way. "the underground has fallen apart under your rule. you create new problems and then ignore them. you think that everything can be fixed with a new show or more statues of yourself. nobody even enjoys living here any more."

"I didn't hear the words 'I hate you', though, darling."

"that's because i don't hate you."

 "Could've fooled me."

"you're the one trying to seduce me. like you do- or, used to do...with every single other monster down here."

"Try again. It's not like you never reciprocated it."

"dude, i'm, like, straight as spaghetti."

"Spaghetti's only straight until it gets a little heated, darling."

 "mm, yeah, almost as if i didn't think of that joke myself."

 

\---

 

_"i'm only stuck with you because papyrus has gone to get food."_

_Mettaton rolled his eyes and perched on the arm of the sofa, slouching his back slightly as his boots pushed against the floor in an attempt to stay upright. At this point Sans was taking any excuse to gripe at Mettaton; his boots scuffing their floor seemed to be the latest contender. "You say it like it's a bad thing, darling."_

_"mhm, sure. i'm not one of your doormat fans, sorry," Sans shrugged, not taking his eyes from the TV. Unsurprisingly, the programme currently airing was one of Mettaton's. Something about a three-course meal - another of his cooking shows. Papyrus must've been watching earlier...although, pretty much the only shows on TV in the underground were Mettaton's, since he was the only sort of celebrity down there. Nobody complained._

_"I hired you to be a comedian at my resort because I thought your jokes were funny," Mettaton said. "Give me something better."_

_"a kick in the leg...?"_

_"Try me, sweetheart, these thighs could_ kill _you," he said, giving his upper thigh a loud smack. It was mostly silicone, but something inside reverberated and clanged like metal. It made sense._

_Sans wasn't sure if he was joking, and since he most likely wasn't, he kept quiet for a moment, having absolutely no intention to test that statement out. 'Skeleton, 21, dies from killer robot thighs'. The headline didn't sound any more appealing than the actual event, although one of his fans out there would probably be very glad if said event happened to them._

_Well. They'd be happy if they didn't, y'know, die as a result of it._

_"i'm good for now," Sans said coolly, waving off the robot's statement dismissively ."catch me on a bad day and i'll get back to you."_

_"That sounded like a 'maybe' if I've ever heard one. I have to say, I never expected you to swing that way, Sans. Even_ you _can surprise me sometimes."_

_"that's because i don't." Apparently Sans was getting better at lying. He'd never found a reason to date anyone, but considering the whole concepts of monsters and magic and the underground in general, it'd be absurd to ever label anyone as completely this or absolutely that. For that reason, he never quite clarified dating preferences to anyone, simply giving them a mysterious shrug and a wink when they asked as if he didn't even know himself._

_"And you say that while you're in the seat next to me. Have you_ seen _me, darling?" He stood up, legs a little shaky after sudden action, and then struck a pose reminiscent of the ones he used for glamour magazine shots. "I could turn anyone."_

_“what, turn them off from ever wanting to watch your shows again?”_

_“Oh, darling, you’re _harsh,”_ Mettaton replied, crouching on the tiptoes of his heels with his knees apart and his elbows (or, the parts of his noodle-like arms that could be considered elbow-y) resting on his lower thighs. In that slut drop-esque position, his head was at eye level with Sans’, and his position right in front of the TV meant that Sans was forced to look at him._

_“move. you’re blocking the view.”_

_“I _am_ the view.”_

_Sans was tempted to use his magic to forcefully move him from the TV and against the nearest wall – unfortunately, nobody really knew about his powers and how strong they were, and so to suddenly show them off for the sake of removing his current source of irritation would just cross the line._

_“not to me, you’re not. i don’t even like you. move.”_

_With a bitter tut and a glare, the robot stood up normally again. He wouldn't normally be offended or hurt by the skeleton's seemingly transparent stare straight through him and to the TV, but it felt too much like being a blook again, a little wispy thing that people never cared to look at, just through._

 

\---

 

Mettaton gives him a deadpan glare, staring him down like intimidating him would suddenly make him apologise or repent or something. Wrong on all counts. He isn't intimidating to Sans (although the same couldn't be said for others) and the skeleton wasn't one for taking back things. For him, once it was out there, it was out there. Done. Said. No takebacks.

In retrospect, there were a lot of things he could've said, should've said, and not all of them would be considered entirely appropiate for Mettaton's usual family-friendly shows. But hey, this timeline would come around again, and he could watch him rise and fall for the x'th time.

The rise: kinda scary. The fall: kinda sad. The in-between: kinda fun.

Mettaton brushes imaginary dust from one of his shoulder spikes, shrugging as if his comment didn't affect him in any way. It did. "Whatever. I don't need approval from a little guttersnipe like you."

"back to the insults? c'mon, mett, i know you love to hate me, and i know you want me to hate you back, but i ain't giving you that satisfaction."

"I don't need the satisfaction, either."

He does - being a smug piece of shit is his favourite pastime and Sans already knew this. The skeleton just shrugs in response, in a vague 'alright, I won't argue' kind of way.

But at that, Mettaton's expression changes. He adapts his usual smirk, except this time it isn't coupled with hooded lids, and rather favours widened eyes. Sans doesn't like this. It makes him look like he could kill him with his heels or his bare hands or his thighs at any moment. "I have money. I have power. I have fame, gold, glitter, beauty, sex, power, wealth, beauty, power, glitter, fame, riches, power, gold- _what more could I possibly need?"_

The desperate eyes, the clenched fist, the speech that gradually got faster with every extra word be reeled off, the heavier breathing despite the fact that he didn't even need to breathe - and it suddenly became very clear to Sans that Mettaton was losing it.

"friends," he said simply, not wanting to make him worse by saying something like 'your marbles'. "you need friends, mettaton."

Then there's silence.

Nothing. Just silence.

The smirk on Mettaton's face grows ever so slightly, and the widened eyes disappear, bringing back his signature lidded eyes with darkened pupils. It's terrifying to Sans.

"You don't need friends when you have power. Friends get in your way and hold you back. Friends don't let 'friends' have power. And power- no, the spotlight on the underground, is all I want," he says darkly. **_"Darling, I'd do anything for the spotlight."_**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: polarise.co.vu

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: polarise.co.vu


End file.
